Re: The Translation In Blood 3/?
anonymous
May 11 2012, 08:49:41 UTC
***
It was 2157, the sun was hot, and Lt. Hannah Shepard was praying her arm would just fall off.
At least then I could pretend I could sprint without falling over. Maybe find cover. Maybe not die of gangrene...
At least the pain kept away the guilt and the abject feeling of failure. There was that.
She struggled to concentrate on just putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring the prod of the pistol at her back, the resonant muttering that was beginning to put her teeth on edge. To make matters worse, the stupid little device fucking up her arm was still trying to work, interlaying her captor's vocals with gibberish and static. It was giving her a headache.
Hannah had only been on this rock two weeks before the Relay 314 incident, driving home her belief that it was just safer to live on a ship and travel the stars, staying one step ahead of the brass, getting out just a little bit further away.
Humans in general could adapt to most any climate, given time and resources, an increase in both upping the odds by quite a bit, but Hannah didn't have either to spare at the moment. She didn't know about the Turian behind her, but the sun was taking its toll. Or maybe her arm really was infected, and she had a fever.
Her hands were bound behind her back, bending her arms at the elbow, shoving that crappy piece of tech where nothing so rigid was supposed to go. She was fairly certain that was blood dripping down her fingers, blood making her uniform stick to her skin at the inside of her elbow.
She swears to this day that if he hadn't have shoved the barrel into the inside of that goddamn arm when she stumbled, none of this would have ever happened.
The woman skittered sideways and into the skeleton of some tree, ripping at her hair and scratching her unprotected face before she fell into and on to the ground. A stream of swear words poured from her lips as she landed on her injured side.
She was still swearing when the growling, trilling, bird-shaped bastard crouched over her to grip her shoulder and roll her over, the stark white lines of his features glowing in the shadow of his form, the suns setting behind him. The beta tech in her arm flared with sparks and heat this time, peppering his words with high-pitched feed back that had her gritting her teeth to keep from screaming.
She'd never been so thankful to pass out in her life, and that's including when she gave birth to her ten pound little girl.
It was 2157, the sun was hot, and Lt. Hannah Shepard was praying her arm would just fall off.
At least then I could pretend I could sprint without falling over. Maybe find cover. Maybe not die of gangrene...
At least the pain kept away the guilt and the abject feeling of failure. There was that.
She struggled to concentrate on just putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring the prod of the pistol at her back, the resonant muttering that was beginning to put her teeth on edge. To make matters worse, the stupid little device fucking up her arm was still trying to work, interlaying her captor's vocals with gibberish and static. It was giving her a headache.
Hannah had only been on this rock two weeks before the Relay 314 incident, driving home her belief that it was just safer to live on a ship and travel the stars, staying one step ahead of the brass, getting out just a little bit further away.
Humans in general could adapt to most any climate, given time and resources, an increase in both upping the odds by quite a bit, but Hannah didn't have either to spare at the moment. She didn't know about the Turian behind her, but the sun was taking its toll. Or maybe her arm really was infected, and she had a fever.
Her hands were bound behind her back, bending her arms at the elbow, shoving that crappy piece of tech where nothing so rigid was supposed to go. She was fairly certain that was blood dripping down her fingers, blood making her uniform stick to her skin at the inside of her elbow.
She swears to this day that if he hadn't have shoved the barrel into the inside of that goddamn arm when she stumbled, none of this would have ever happened.
The woman skittered sideways and into the skeleton of some tree, ripping at her hair and scratching her unprotected face before she fell into and on to the ground. A stream of swear words poured from her lips as she landed on her injured side.
She was still swearing when the growling, trilling, bird-shaped bastard crouched over her to grip her shoulder and roll her over, the stark white lines of his features glowing in the shadow of his form, the suns setting behind him. The beta tech in her arm flared with sparks and heat this time, peppering his words with high-pitched feed back that had her gritting her teeth to keep from screaming.
She'd never been so thankful to pass out in her life, and that's including when she gave birth to her ten pound little girl.
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